


Love Will Tear Us Apart...Again.

by TheEmpressAR



Category: Bates Motel (2013), Bates Motel RPF
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 14:28:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7365157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEmpressAR/pseuds/TheEmpressAR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a slight A/U from what happens in Season 4 Episode 2.  I didn't really go off the beaten path but I would have LOVED to have seen a bit more interaction on a certain scene.  There is some INCREDIBLE acting in this episode.  The whole 4th season is what Bates Motel was meant to be!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Will Tear Us Apart...Again.

Loving someone too much can be a very dangerous thing....loving to the point of obsession is a near death experience. 

It's funny how one moment can change a person's life forever. It's funny how one action can set a course of events that will change many lives in the same way. Sitting alone in his room, his cell as he liked to call it, Norman Bates rolled these thoughts around in his head. His head that was becoming clearer and more rational, at least to his own mind, every day.

He blamed her for everything. The blackouts, the killing, the manipulation of making him who he was. He blamed her but he loved her to the point of willing to die for her, kill her to preserve her...the person, the mother she once was to him.

It was over now. He felt it. The heart-wrenching agony of the way she tortured his soul by just looking at him. She betrayed him. She betrayed everything they stood for. She wanted him here. She kept him here. She was left to run amok and he he was in here, captive to her once more. 

She was afraid of him now, and Norman laughed to himself every time he thought of that. She was afraid of him? She had called the police on him? They treated him like an intruder? Like someone that didn't belong there. He lived there. That was his home. No longer. She made sure of that. His silence sealed the deal. His signature sealed his fate.

His mind flashed back to the moments in the bedroom. She was going to kill him. His mother was literally running for the instrument that would put an end to his existence. He had the foresight and the mistrust to beat her to the punch and train the gun on her, willing to end her if it saved them both. 

He remembered the touch of her hands. He closed his eyes and breathed in, the memory of her scent still residing deep in his nostrils. The smell of her body, the smell of her fear, the smell of her need. He felt the traces of her fingers, feathering through his hair, trailing down the column of his neck. He trembled at her touch. She came heart-breakingly close to his mouth and pressed a small kiss to his lips. Norman opened his eyes at the sensation and brought his slender fingers up to touch the same corner of his mouth. The feel of her there, it was still warm, even after he had grown so cold.

"Stop it, Mother..." he could barely sigh out as she reminded him of how often she kissed him, in how many ways. She didn't stop. She kissed him gently, soothing him, easing him, calming him. She had had him pressed against the door. He remembered his hands disobeying his screaming mind. "RESIST HER!" It shouted at him. The hand with the gun was almost shaking and he couldn't control his grip. 

He remembered the desperation in her as she tried every tactic she knew to get him to release the gun over to her. He remembered her hands, how deft and skilled, how expertly they untucked the bottom of his shirt tail from his pants. He swallowed hard at the way her cool fingers found a small sliver of his bare, heated skin. Her fingers danced and played, touching softly and slowly, not wanting to agitate him further, but continuing her calming, soothing, exploration, the only thing keeping his mind in reality was the sound of fear still tinging her voice. He frowned at this recollection. She wasn't doing this because she loved him. She was only thinking of her own sorry neck. 

His words to her were hateful. Filled with rage. Filled with accusations and mistrust. He shouldn't be standing here now wanting to crawl inside of her skin. The way she was making him feel, a mixture of hate and ecstasy and guilt for where this had led him tonight were all rolled together and fought for dominance. The one single thought screaming through his brain was 'I want her. I need her. I love her.' Over and over again. 

He felt her hand slide up over his shoulder and down his arm. She had been trying to distract him with coying kisses each one pressing to his lips, his cheeks, his eyes, anywhere she dared to press whispering softly for him to come back to himself, to stop scaring her, to forgive her.

Her hand touched his and touched the cold steel of the gun. She hesitated and tried not to draw attention to it, instead closing her eyes when Norman finally began to respond. He moaned deep in his throat when she pressed herself hard against his body, and he brought his free hand up to her shoulder and gripped it, keeping her locked into place, not wanting to tear himself away from the dizzying downward spiral that she had pushed him on.

Norman lay back on the cot, barely bigger than his own small bed at home and desperately tried to rid himself of the memories that followed. He, realizing his mother was only trying to save them both from serious regrets, understood why she did what she did. In the heat of the moment it was a different story. He remembered shoving her away. He remembered her running away from him in complete terror. He feverishly brushed tears away from his eyes, now knowing for certain that they would NEVER share the bond they once so strongly formed for each other. They were too far gone and there was no going back. Dark and painful thoughts and feelings so very often win out over brightness, love and light.

Norman allowed the tears to flow as he remembered her finding him in the basement. The sound of the banging on the door above. The one saving grace, the one shred of hope that there still might be a chance to salvage something of their trust for one another was when she still, after all that had happened, after all that was said and done, after all that could send them to the depths of hell, she still chose to protect him, to protect the secrets of what went on in that house. 

As Romero and his deputy came pounding down the basement stairs, he remembered, Norma, (because he can no longer bring himself to call her Mother) reaching for the gun, running soft, reassuring fingers over his oddly calm ones in a final attempt at showing how much she loved him with all her heart. The gun along with the shears she held behind her back were quickly disposed in an empty basket in the shadows.

'I'm sorry....I'm so sorry....remember that I love you.' Not a word was spoken by him to her as Romero escorted him up the stairs, and to the waiting vehicle. 

With the remembrances of her kisses on his mouth, the way she made him feel, all tied up on the inside, hollow and filled at the same time, all of the craziness between them, Norman pounded a fist hard into his scratchy bed sheet and brought it to his mouth. Biting it hard, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain and screaming on the inside. 

He opened his eyes and saw her standing there. His 'Mother'. She was the Angel of Death, and she had come for him.


End file.
